


Are You With Me?

by Ldigo



Series: Are You..? [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Study, Codependency, Gen, Getting Together, Imprisonment, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder Kink, Obsession, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Psychopaths In Love, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ldigo/pseuds/Ldigo
Summary: Arkham, as Jeremiah quickly realized, was nothing at all like one would expect from a mental institution, for criminally insane or not. Unfortunately, that also meant that he wasn’t in the least bit prepared to face the horrors that greedily awaited him there.Now all that was left for him was surviving at all costs and not letting himself be dragged under the waters. And in the midst of it all Jerome was his only hope.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska
Series: Are You..? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791613
Comments: 23
Kudos: 56





	1. Jeremiah

Arkham, as Jeremiah quickly realized, was nothing at all like one would expect from a mental institution, for criminally insane or not. First of all, the staff in there showed no inclination of ever caring for any of the patients’ well-being.

This fact in itself wasn’t too far-fetched from what he envisioned during that sleepless lonely night at the precinct, but the reality greatly surpassed his wildest imagination. ‘Not caring’ in this case amounted to turning blind eye towards any atrocities that transpired between the inmates, at times even joining in. It was _off-putting_ at the very least, and that was saying something coming from someone of his psyche and upbringing.

Second of all, the _treatment_ , if it could even be called that. Now, Jeremiah wasn’t exactly an expert in this sort of thing, having no education in the field — or in-depth knowledge, if nothing else. But still, he couldn’t shake off the conviction that such matters should proceed very differently if the doctors put any stock in succeeding.

It seemed, though, that successful recovery of the patients was farthest from the top of their priority list, if it even was mentioned there at all. As it was, the mandatory _therapy sessions_ appeared to be designed specifically to mess up people’s minds, with amusement (or probably some sort of experimentation/research or other such rot) as the sole purpose.

Whatever it was, it mattered not, since the endgame remained the same; madmen were imprisoned in here not to heal, but to be punished and creatively ‘played’ with, like bloody puppets on strings. They were never meant to see the the light of day again.

And wasn’t that a depressive thought?

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you saying a single word aloud, Jeremiah,” said the pretty doctor with a gentle voice, kind smile and cold, empty eyes. He never bothered to learn her name, confident that yet another replacement was in store for him in the next handful of days. “I’m afraid that if this tendency continues, we will need to up your dosage.”

Fuck, his irresponsiveness was supposed to show his harmless and subdued state and prompt decrease of dosage, not the other way around. Nevertheless, he stared blankly ahead, refusing to raise to the bait and — worse yet — subsequently show his fear, giving her the upper hand and a tool to manipulate him with.

Not that they didn’t know already how to achieve that, considering they must have received his case and Gordon’s complimenting notes, but for some reason they never once attempted to use it. It was as though his brother — his twin, his _everything_ didn’t even exist.

He found himself wondering at times if that was indeed true, but managed to snap out of this utter madness unscathed so far. It was probably the bastards’ intention anyway, to make him doubt the reality and submit to the voices that grew louder and louder with each passing day in captivity.

Of course they wouldn’t just go away, just as he feared (but foolishly hoped otherwise). On the contrary, they only gained more strength without his brother’s soothing presence. How peculiar that he hadn’t ever noticed such an effect before.

Or not at all, come to think of it. It would be hard to notice anything of the sort since the two of them had never been separated before for more then a few hours at a time, usually when their chores around the blasted circus didn’t coalesce.

Funny how this unnatural closeness used to irritate him, urged to go to great lengths to ensure that he could be his own person and not just a part of a whole. He’d do anything right now to experience that unhealthy coexistence again.

It meant that the most insistent voice was wrong, though. He sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to survive on his own back then, if he didn’t change his mind at the last minute and proceeded to leave Haley’s and ruined Jerome behind. He would have been just as ruined himself, if not more so, weighed down by his own cruelty and betrayal. Jerome’s obsession wasn’t as one-sided as he previously thought, it was full-blown codependency instead.

Once upon a time such a prospect terrified him, but not today. Now it only brought him comfort, if just a little. Jerome must have encountered some difficulties, most probably from Jeremiah’s very captors, but he would come. Whether he liked it or not.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have added that last part to his internal musings. The voices, somewhat quietened up until this moment, returned in full force, and he couldn’t help but contemplate the possibility that it was Jerome who had pushed his buttons for all these years instead of the other way around, and now finally celebrated his victory over Jeremiah and Lila both, enjoyed himself somewhere far away, out of reach of his dumb sacrificial lamb of a brother.

But no, it was just plain ridiculous. Surely Jerome couldn’t have possibly predicted something Jeremiah himself was convinced he’d never do. Even suggesting otherwise would be insane.

Not that this decision — _his own_ decision, thank you very much — in any way prevented Jeremiah from feeling irrational resentment towards his brother. His foolish thoughts back at the precinct about all this torment being ‘worth’ Jerome’s adoring gaze were thrown away a long time ago, and now he was back again to the all too familiar conundrum between love and hate.

In his moments of complete lucidity he dismissed the silly notion of it all being somehow _Jerome’s_ fault, of course, but those were few and far between these days. Most of time he spent battling (or worse, agreeing) with himself on the idea that his rush decision upon realizing what Jerome intended to do was, in fact, nothing more than a mere illusion conjured by his too prideful mind that couldn’t take a blow.

The fact that he had no way of discerning truths from vicious lies and treacherous doubts, or seeing his brother outside of dreamscape at least, certainly didn’t help.

Not to mention, he lost track of time fairly early on, no thanks to his _lovely_ meds, and didn’t know how much of it had already passed. Felt like ages, at any rate, but in reality could easily amount to no more than a meager couple of weeks.

“You didn’t listen to me at all, did you?” The doctor’s slightly irritated voice rose above his internal turmoil. “Very well, don’t expect then to see your brother any time soon.”

At that he immediately snapped to attention, for the first time during their who-knew-how-many sessions (and probably his whole stay at the facility) meeting the doctor’s gaze dead on. He wasn’t particularly bothered by the fact that he’d just willingly stepped into a trap, as the woman didn’t know how much he gained from a single phrase anyway.

The overbearing voices quietened more than they ever did since his arrival at this shithole, unable to stay strong in face of irrefutable truth. Jerome hadn’t thrown him to the wolves and forgotten all about him; no, their reunion was merely delayed by incessant meddling of sadistic fools. Of course he knew it (or suspected, or _hoped_ ), but hearing confirmation, however inadvertent, was rather nice.

(Far from just nice, actually, if he was honest with himself. More like necessary, on par with breathing.)

In this very moment he felt better than he did in ages.

“How do I get to see my brother?” Jeremiah rasped, voice rough from disuse.

“I thought you’d never ask,” the ruddy bint smiled, not dissimilar to a cat that caught a canary. He resisted the urge to do the same.

Finally, he was getting somewhere. It was time to up the stakes in this game.

**JVJVJV**

“Miah!” he heard a soft exclamation, more akin to exhale of a breath that had been held in for too long.

“Jerome,” he whispered back with the same reverence, all his undivided attention immediately zeroing in on his brother’s form at the doorstep, flanked by meaningless guards. He knew anyone else would have been unnerved by sheer intensity of his gaze, but Jerome merely sagged in relief and drifted forward seemingly in a daze, enveloping Jeremiah’s cuffed hands in his own even before he properly sat on opposite chair. Unfortunately, it was the only physical manifestation of their bond they could reasonably pull off at the moment.

“I’ve missed you, baby brother,” he rasped with that painstakingly earnest expression he had worn all those days — _weeks? months?_ — ago at the precinct. His overall appearance — somewhat unkempt, ragged, _haunted_ — matched his words as well, leaving no room for doubt.

The vicious voices calmed down significantly, helpless in the face of irrefutable evidence — the face that mirrored his own perfectly now, since he wasn’t allowed to keep his glasses. Not that he needed them much, anyway; their main purpose was to distinguish and separate himself from his twin.

“And I you,” he confessed quietly, a raw quality to his voice. It sounded more emotional than he intended, probably because past few days — _weeks?_ — hadn’t been kind to his previously stagnant vocal chords.

“I can’t believe they’ve finally let me in after all this time!” Jerome exclaimed when he finished choking on his surprise and worry born of Jeremiah’s unusual behavior. “Was it something you did?”

“It might be,” he smirked, telling his overprotective brother without words that his concessions weren’t something Jerome should concern himself with. After a brief stare contest, the elder twin relented.

“Anyway, I’m glad that _something_ changed after all that frustratingly futile beating down doors. To be honest, i almost started to lose hope,” a shudder accompanied that last tidbit.

“How much time has passed?” Jeremiah demanded harshly, barely hearing his own voice under crescendo of countless voices spurred by careless remark.

“Just over three months,” Jerome replied alarmingly, squeezing his shaking hands — _when did they start doing that?_ — to the point of pain, until the erratic movement subsided.

“Took them long enough,” Jeremiah joked weakly, diverting attention from his newly developed nervous tic.

“Hopefully it won’t take quite as much to sanction our next date,” Jerome chuckled humorlessly, still concerned but willing to let it slide for now. “By the way, I’ve managed to establish myself in Gotham, find a place and all that. Uncle dearest sent you his regards just before he kicked me out in the streets, but it didn’t deter me. So now I have a roof over my head and a stable job to do in between my assault of this fine establishment. What else? Oh, and our friend Jimbo has been honing his subtlety by tailing me, but the man clearly lacks finesse and resources, especially time-wise, I’m afraid.”

“What does he want with you?” he frowned angrily, surprised by the amount of hostility and resentment he felt towards the too perceptive officer.

“Well, I believe he must have somehow gotten this ridiculous idea of me being dangerous and unhinged, if his parting expression was anything to go by. Nothing I can’t work around, don’t worry. Maybe he’ll cease his meddling after months worth observation doesn’t show him anything alarming.”

“He’d better,” the younger twin muttered, still furious at the nerve of this man who single-handily destroyed his own life and then put his sights on his brother’s. Fuck him and his stupid intuition and goody two-shoes attitude! Jeremiah wished almost desperately to watch him _burn_.

Soothing images of fire engulfing the meddling fool’s body whole, of blackening skin and inhumanly loud screams helped him clear his mind, unclench the fingers that dug painfully into his brother’s hand and contribute to the conversation. After all, he could always fantasize later, when he would be deprived of his soul’s company for who knew how long again. Now was the time to get his full of this pleasure while he still had a chance.

“One way or another, I’m sure he will,” his twin concluded with finality (and a matching dark look on his face, achingly familiar and way better suited than the previous haunted one).

“Do be careful, brother,” he urged, making it sound like he spoke about something as harmless as simply walking around in a dangerous place such as Gotham. The proper amount of anxiousness and brotherly affection was, of course, inserted.

“Am I not always?” Jerome drawled rhetorically, and Jeremiah decided against reminding him of Lila fiasco. It was a sore topic for both of them, and besides, they were in no position to discuss the fallout now, with all these greedy onlookers scattered nearby.

His twin, it seemed, remembered the same thing, judging by his briefly clouded look. Then he softened and asked, something akin to remorse reflected in his infinite eyes; “That’s enough about me. How are you faring in this dreadful place, little brother?”

“I’m fine,” Jeremiah automatically responded, putting as much effort into sounding like he meant it as he was able in his current weakened state. He wasn’t exactly succeeding, if Jerome’s expression was anything to go by.

Nevertheless, he didn’t push it, opting instead for less charged topics; circus folks’ misery when they lost three crew members in one go, his first impressions of Gotham, his boss — a strict and firm woman — and the like.

“Never thought I’d see you maintaining a ‘boring’ regular job for so long one day,” Jeremiah laughed good-natured, aware of his brother’s temper.

“I’ll have you know, I’m fully capable of upholding a normal lifestyle, thank you very much!” came the expected mock-indignant reply. “Especially if a have a worthy goal ahead.”

They exchanged meaningful glances, but quickly diverted back to safe topics. The message was delivered, and there was no need to attract unwanted attention by further nursing it.

_I’ll think of something. I swear it, Miah. I’ll find a way to get you out, and if I don’t, I’ll lend myself in. You won’t be alone for much longer._

Jerome’s words ran excitedly through his mind. He hadn’t abandoned this insane idea then (not that Jeremiah thought he would). Good. It wasn’t like the younger twin could realistically survive in here for much longer otherwise.

Two brothers chatted some more, reminiscing of their happy moments together. Jeremiah honestly never imagined there would be quite as many of those, but now he couldn’t wrap his hand around the fact that he managed to trick himself so thoroughly for the largest part of his life.

How did he not notice before that without his brother he simply wouldn’t exist?

He didn’t let this show on his face, though, and continued to soak up Jerome’s soothing presence while he could. No, not merely soothing — at the moment Jerome was _everything_. Both beauty and thorns, tenderness and fierceness, calming oasis and raging storm. He was everything Jeremiah could ever hope — wish — to obtain, and so much more than that.

Alas, all good things never lasted. Their sweet reunion was cut short by that obnoxious doctor who foolishly prided herself on making him talk. Jeremiah never imagined her death quite as vividly (and brutally) as he did in that very moment. A quick glance at his brother confirmed he felt the same.

After that it was impossible not to imagine them both carving into her flesh, relishing in her helpless screams, standing above her pathetic writhing frame, tall and imposing. Untouchable for worthless scum like her that had the audacity to inhabit the same planet as the two of them, vengeful gods among men.

That was bad. He couldn’t be seen leaving the meeting room with a prominent bulge in his jumpsuit. It would jeopardize his plans and, more importantly, the possibility to see his brother again.

He imagined Lila, laying all spent and wasted on the couch, her bare thighs and crotch displayed for anyone to see, covered in yet another nameless man’s semen. That did the trick, as always.

Hopefully, his barely concealed gagging would be seen as his displeasure at leaving Jerome.

God, he wanted to kiss him so badly, feel that already obsessively memorized pressure of his twin’s lips against his own, demanding entrance that’d be easily — hungrily — granted, but he couldn’t. Indulging in their cravings would be a certain way to extinguish any hope of future visits, and he couldn’t afford it. He’d crumple in a matter of days, reduced to a pitiful, hardly cognizant mess.

They couldn’t have it, now could they?

Jerome appeared torn by similar musings, but they both managed to give nothing away in the end. With a short embrace his brother was gone, and Jeremiah endured humiliating process of being checked for any smuggled contraband. There was none, of course.

**JVJVJV**

From then on their meetings gained a somewhat regular — if still hectic — schedule, despite them being frequently used as a leverage in Jeremiah’s ‘negotiations’ with facility staff, his since then officially appointed doctor first and foremost among those who relayed on such a threat pretty heavily. He couldn’t help but think rather smugly that he wouldn’t have wielded such a weapon quite as carelessly, but it didn’t change the fact that it worked _every damn time_ , so perhaps it wasn’t simple arrogance on that woman’s part. Why change something that effectively and with little to no effort brought forth the intended results, after all?

Not that he never circumvented their supposed ‘progress’ to suit his own needs, of course. Still, it irked something awful that they honestly (and with decent enough reason) thought that they held all the cards there.

 _No one_ should have been allowed to even so much as attempt to use his brother against him and live to tell the tale. Jeremiah hoped that he’d get a chance to remedy that horrendous injustice one day.

He tenderly smiled to Jerome, the motion still vaguely foreign and uncomfortable, trying to mask the unfortunate direction his thoughts had suddenly taken right in the middle of their rather engaging conversation, during which his interlocutor conveyed his progress in climbing Gotham underworld ladder without so much as hinting at any illegal activities to the outside observers. Of course, since his sibling’s perceptiveness of anything Jeremiah-related was basically preternatural, this smallest deceit didn’t go unnoticed, if Jerome’s narrowing gaze was anything to go by.

Thankfully, his surprisingly understanding elder brother once again decided to not press the issue of Jeremiah’s mental health. Not that this sudden patience didn’t look suspicious, but there was hardly anything the constantly monitored prisoner could do about it without opening up himself, which he most certainly did not intend to do. _Ever_ , if possible.

It was probably nothing, anyway. It wasn’t like Jerome could reasonably do anything either, considering their supervision.

Nothing stopped him from sneaking worrying glances, though, and Jeremiah was hit with a sudden realization that he felt... _flattered_ , so to speak. There was a distinct _fondness_ in place of usual derision which he used to experience when confronted with demonstrations of affection or mood-reading from his twin.

He smiled wider, in this very moment inordinately pleased with their growing closeness. It would change back soon enough after the visit was concluded, he knew, but Jeremiah couldn’t help but hope that one day the voices would perish, leaving him free to enjoy the soul bond without any hindrances or setbacks.

He became more and more comfortable in his own head with each passing meeting, after all, despite the situation he’d willingly placed himself in.

God, who knew that he would benefit from Jerome’s insistent presence in his life quite as much, if at all?

“I love you, Jay,” he whispered out of the blue when their conversation, which he wasn’t exactly focused on anyway, came to a halt.

“And I love you, Miah, more than anything!” Jerome enthusiastically responded, still not quite over his initial surprise and _wonder_ at Jeremiah’s newfound openness and commitment. He probably never would, the younger brother mused, and found that he didn’t really mind. It was good to be the constant center of someone’s positive attention, reverence even, for once. Especially when you held that someone in equally high regard.

That night Jeremiah went to sleep in better and more relaxed mood than in a long time. Too bad the next day shattered the illusion he managed to mentally retreat into.

**JVJVJV**

It was an ordinary day at Arkham — well, as ordinary as one could get in that wretched mockery of an asylum. The only deviation from usual routines was that it turned out to be a shower day, the most dreaded event that Jeremiah could think of. He _hated_ joined showers with other inmates with a passion and tried to push anything related to those out of his mind. Probably that’s why such days always came as a real surprise, despite them being the perfect landmark to count off two weeks’ intervals.

“There you are, sweet boy,” the all-too-familiar booming voice sounded from somewhere disconcertingly close on his right. This time, however, the satisfaction behind the man’s words was almost palpable, which immediately put Jeremiah on edge.

He jerkily turned in the direction of the voice, and of course, the most bothersome inmate — bulky, brainless and _loud_ — stood there, grinning widely with an air of accomplishment and _anticipation_ around him. Jeremiah tensed, sensing that something was definitely not quite right.

“What do you want, blockhead?” he drawled disinterestedly, as though not intimidated at all. For all these months he hadn’t bothered to learn the man’s name — he knew everything he needed about the goon just by looking at him. Flock of Lila’s studs came in handy for once.

“Funny that you talk about _heads_ ,” the bastard wiggled his eyebrows and chuckled at what he probably perceived as his superb wordplay. Jeremiah merely heaved a sigh, desperately wishing for this spectacle to be over with already, so he could redress, leave the damned lockers and forget this ever happened for the next two weeks.

“Are you quite done?”Jeremiah snapped and shoved the man that stood in his way — or _tried_ to, since the oaf was as unmovable as a fucking stone wall. And that’s when their usual banter went off it’s course.

It happened so fast that Jeremiah hadn’t even realized it at first. One second he resignedly searched for a way around the obstacle in the narrow space that was available to him, and the next he was suddenly pulled forward with enough force to make him stumble and collide with the other’s body. He yelped in surprise, not expecting such a drastic turn of events. The cowardly piece of shit had never once went further than words.

“Don’t you worry, pretty,” the man laughed, “it’s all settled. I promise we’re gonna have so much fun, and no one’s gonna interrupt us.”

Jeremiah’s mind was sent into an overdrive. It couldn’t possibly mean... No, of course not. Fights between inmates were one thing, perfectly normal, expected even. A rape, on the other hand...

Surely the staff couldn’t expect to cover _this_ up. He was being visited on a regular basis, for fuck’s sake, and would easily be able to pass the message down through Jerome. The traces left would be distinct and long-lasting, especially if he found a way to hinder the recovery process — which he would.

So what, for the love of god, could possibly possess the orderlies to condone such an act on one of more violent inmates’ part? It just didn’t make any sense.

He was violently jerked back from his thoughts by the very source of his current distress. In any other circumstances it would be amusing how he managed to completely forget about his assailant, lost in his own head.

Apparently the rapist didn’t find his seeming irresponsiveness in any way flattering, because the man growled angrily and smacked his head in the nearest stall. Jeremiah blinked dazedly, coming back to his senses.

Up until now he hadn’t noticed that he’d resorted to well-practiced defence mechanism, basically ingrained into his very being by years of abuse, both physical and mental. It was just _so easy_ to escape in his vast mindscape, where he didn’t have to worry about anything happening on the outside, didn’t have to be afraid of himself, of what he’d do to all those people if given the chance.

But there was no need for any of that now, was there? He’d already faced persecution and was left there to rot, probably for the rest of his life. What use was hiding now?

Jeremiah chuckled, feeling the imagined weight lift from his shoulders to never return again, and raised his chin high. His lips split in a too wide grin, matched by demented gleam in his eyes. He threw his head back and laughed, knowing that after today he wouldn’t ever be regressing back to his shell as he did after the GCPD incident.

He swore that he’d never hide again, least of all from himself. Finally, the monster under Jeremiah Valeska’s skin was completely free.


	2. Jerome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter that starts where Jerome receives a phone call from Arkham is dedicated to amazing **sososophiexoxo**. Thank you for your input (though it wasn’t implemented the way you talked about it, per se).

“What do you mean he is in solitary?” Jerome asked incredulously, standing in the Arkham hall like a fool on the scheduled day of his visit. His interlocutor, a fat-chested girl barely older than his brother and he, merely blinked.

“Mr. Valeska, I’m afraid I’m not allowed to disclose any details regarding the incidents between the inmates, even if you happen to be the next of kin for one of them,” the receptionist recited with practiced ease, all the while shamelessly making eyes at him. “I’m sorry that I’m unable to help you, but you’ll just have to wait until your brother is released from his solitary confinement.”

“So there was at least one more inmate involved,” Jerome gritted through clenched teeth. “Somehow, I’m not surprised that some fuckhead decided to pick on my _eighteen year old_ brother. Tell me, why is he being punished as well? Do your _doctors_ not possess enough brain cells to figure out that Jeremiah was clearly a victim? And to think of it, how on earth did this _wonderful_ situation came to be in the first place? Don’t you lot have any security measures at all?”

“Mr. Valeska,” the girl swallowed fearfully, seemingly taken aback by his outburst. “I assure you, the incident is being looked into. Here in Arkham we pride ourselves on the utmost caution and care that we apply to dealing with our patients. The investigation is still ongoing, and it won’t be closed until the truth is established.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t sound exactly reassuring,” he muttered sarcastically. “I take it you haven’t found all the culprits yet? In that case, pray tell me how Jeremiah ended up in solitary already? Wouldn’t it be against the rules if his innocence is proven during this... ‘investigation’ of yours?”

“Your brother has killed one of the inmates!” the bint gasped. “There’s no denying it. All that’s left is to establish whether there was anyone else involved.”

“He did what now?” Jerome asked, uncomprehending. That didn’t sound like Jeremiah at all — well, not in such an apparently public setting, at least.

The receptionist sighed, catching up with the fact that she’d just spilled the beans, and decided to go with it.

“He was found alone in the presence of a corpse of one of the inmates, appearing to be in shock. Not surprising, really — the poor victim was mutilated beyond belief in a fit of mindless rage. It’s entirely possible that your brother was horrified by his own doing after coming to his senses, thus subsequently shut his mind down in order to avoid processing the fact.”

“Very sound,” Jerome remarked dryly, not particularly convinced by this rubbish. He knew better than to assume that Jeremiah would be disturbed by such a deed, especially at the expense of his ungodly developed self-preservation. “And when exactly is he going to be released, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, wait a moment,” the stupid girl brightened, seemingly convinced that he’d come over his hostile reaction to the news. “Let’s see, he was put in there for fourteen days. Eleven left, including today.”

“Very well,” Jerome frowned, not at all pleased that some fucking misunderstanding — because it couldn’t be anything else — would cost him _two_ precious dates with Jeremiah. Probably more, if Jeremiah were to be punished further afterwards. “I’ll be back when my brother’s unjust sentence is over, then.”

With that said he turned around and angrily stomped out of the unfriendly building, pretending not to notice the slut’s attempt to pawn off her number. God, he needed to kill something right about _now_.

**JVJVJV**

Strangely enough, Jerome received a call from Arkham barely a day and a half later. He felt terror seizing his heart — they’d _never_ bothered to call him before, even to alert him of canceled visit. What could have possibly taken place to warrant them reaching out to him now?

He dreaded worst, despite knowing with unshakable conviction that he’d sense it immediately if something were to happen to Jeremiah. Alas, fear never was most rational of experiences.

_Fuck!_

He couldn’t breathe. For a moment he couldn’t even hear his cell ringing over the viciously rushing blood, and his hands were cold, so cold, as he clenched them to the point of drawing blood in a desperate bid to keep himself from falling to the ground and shattering to pieces, never to be whole again.

He took a shuddering breath. Then another. And another. Until he felt like he was wrapped in ice, familiar and thus comforting instead of freezing, until the uncomfortable knots in his stomach lessened enough that he wouldn’t risk retching all over himself the moment he opened his mouth.

Only then did he pick up the phone that still thankfully hadn’t fallen silent, his inner turmoil beaten into submission for the time being. His clammy, shaking limbs went pointedly ignored.

“Jerome Valeska speaking,” he said, cringing at how strained his voice sounded. “Is something the matter with Jeremiah?”

“Oh? No, not at all, don’t worry,” a feminine voice assured. It could very well be that receptionist with unnaturally large boobs for all he cared, since he never bothered to take any notice of his soul’s jailers past the bare minimum. “And good afternoon, Mr. Valeska. I am pleased to inform you that the misunderstanding regarding your brother has been cleared, and he’s just been released from solitary confinement. You may visit him tomorrow, if you wish.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jerome asked, afraid to believe that something good happened for once. “What do you mean ‘cleared’?”

“It appears that the murder weapon was found among one of the inmates’ personal belongings, and after a thorough interrogation he confessed to defending your brother from sexual assault,” definitely that stupid bitch, then, considering her willingness to part with such sensitive information without a second thought. “He’s been redirected to the medical wing immediately upon this discovery, of course, and it was established that nothing... terribly untoward had transpired, thankfully. I’m positive you’ll be able to confirm your brother’s well-being for yourself tomorrow. We’ll be expecting your arrival any time during usual visiting hours.”

“Thank you,” he rasped, and even managed to exchange all the socially acceptable farewells before promptly hanging up. His mind reeled with numerous implications, and he had trouble thinking straight past ugly roaring rage that threatened to overcome him completely.

And than his hazy brain latched onto one line in particular, and he saw red.

“‘Terribly untoward’, huh?” Jerome muttered to himself some time later, wiping the blood from his split knuckles in antechamber by the arena of the underground fighting club that he frequented these days. His memory of past... well, however long it took him to come to his senses, really, was scarce at best. Not that he particularly cared about poor bastards that had the misfortune to encounter him in the meantime; he had more important things to divert his attention to.

Like Jeremiah’s attempted rape, for instance.

Did that mentally challenged excuse of a receptionist just say that the scum — already dead, regrettably — that dared to lay his filthy hands on _his_ brother, also managed to do more than that before he was stopped?

Jerome hoped not. It would be terribly inconvenient if he suddenly lost his temper and finished off any and all orderlies in his immediate vicinity, only to be apprehended on spot and find out that the real culprits were able to get away with ease. Not to mention that any chance at staging Jeremiah’s escape would be surely lost.

Of course it would mean that at least they would be together in this shit, but Jerome was confident that they wouldn’t need to resort to such option. He spent months fucking and killing off his way through the ranks of one of most prominent Gotham gangs, for fuck’s sake, and wasn’t about to dismiss all that progress at first signs of inconvenience.

He’d still do it the moment he so much as suspected that Jeremiah was no longer holding himself together, plan be damned.

But not now. He’d refrain until he got a glimpse of damage, at least, which wouldn’t happen _until tomorrow_.

Thursday couldn’t come soon enough.

Jerome sighed, wondering what he could possibly do to stave off the impatient itching. Perhaps his boss would be so kind as to assign some task — preferably involving violence and blood — to her over-eager recent employee?

No time like the present to find out.

**JVJVJV**

His heart hammered in his chest so much that he almost expected it to break free from the confines of his rib cage. He scoffed internally, berating himself for this unbecoming nervousness that he was unable to overcome.

But how could he, really? The most important person in his world — more important than he himself, to be honest — was nearly _raped_ several days prior, and the goddamned vultures didn’t even think to check on his health until they stumbled upon some shitty piece of evidence.

Jerome took a shuddering breath, trying to compose himself. It wouldn’t do to lash out on the unsuspecting guards now of all times. Jeremiah would be pissed if he managed to fuck up their bittersweet reunion basically at the precipice of it.

His right leg bounced impatiently, barely concealed by the left one that rested atop it. The fact that he’d been led to the meeting room before his brother made him even more nervous and restless, and he feared it wouldn’t take much longer before his control slipped.

Well, there was first time for everything, he supposed.

Thankfully, just as he was becoming seriously concerned, some noises from the hallway could be heard. Several sets of footsteps, three or four by his rough estimation, and tell-tale rattling of a pair of handcuffs.

He straightened up, eager to see his twin again after what felt like ages, and wasn’t disappointed. The door opened, revealing Jeremiah’s slender form flanked by a couple of bulky orderlies. Not that human furniture held his attention for longer than it took to register their presence in passing.

No, all his formidable focus was immediately zeroed in on the only one that mattered, the redhead with an assortment of matching freckles on his paler than usual face.

Jeremiah was just _so beautiful_ , his soft exterior belying the ingenious abyss that laid underneath. He was horrible and yet perfect, and Jerome loved him more than anything, both the rose and its thorns, the beauty and the beast in equal measure. He knew his brother utterly, more than anyone could ever hope to know him, and yet still loved him. Both despite who he was and because of it.

Probably especially because of it.

And Jeremiah, his sweet, psychotic, devious little brother, _loved him back_. It was still the same mind-blowing, heady feeling that this sudden revelation first ignited in him. After all these months Jerome had no less hard time wrapping his head around it and simply _believing_ , letting himself bask in the returned affection, thrilled and carefree.

But the proof was right in front of him, wasn’t it? Not counting the whole GCPD fiasco, which had been definitely a spun of a moment thing, Jeremiah steadfastly peeled off his layers upon layers of metaphorical protective gear, time and again making a visible effort to reveal himself to his elder brother completely, as far as their less than stellar situation would allow it. And Jerome really felt, for the first time in their whole lives (excluding rare catches and glimpses of sincerity), how perfectly they merged together despite all the outer forces hellbent on dragging them apart.

Jeremiah missed him desperately now, too, which was evident for anyone who knew what to look for, and there was one such person in the room. More importantly, Jeremiah knew that he knew, and seemingly made no effort at all to hide from him.

Jerome’s chest constricted for entirely different reasons from those which plagued him while he waited, adrift and suspended in time.

He leaped up, finally breaking the invisible shackles of his awed stupor, and reveled in the aborted movement that Jeremiah instinctively made towards him before catching himself.

“Patience!” one of the orderlies grumbled, pulling the chain in warning. It took all Jerome’s considerable willpower not to lash out right there and now like an animal protecting its wounded mate.

Jeremiah’s reaction amounted to a sharp intake of breath, which was new. He’d always been more level-headed and self-conscious of the two of them, to the point of being an honest to god control freak among control freaks. What changed?

No sooner had he thought it than he wanted to smash his forehead for his own stupidity. Of course Jeremiah appeared frayed at the edges! It wasn’t every day that he was nearly raped and then unceremoniously thrown into some small isolated space without so much as basic investigation!

Even for the embodiment of madness, violence and perversion that was Haley’s it was never a common occurrence. Not to vicious Valeska twins, at least. The rest of teenagers could be molested all day every day for all they cared.

Jerome immediately set on subtly checking over his brother’s lithe body for any signs of injury, as much as the oversized jumpsuit and ever-present flock of onlookers (that were currently manhandling his utterly disgusted twin) allowed to do so.

Thankfully, first observations revealed nothing particularly worrisome. Otherwise he wouldn’t put much stock in his self-restrain, which always became basically nonexistent whenever his brother was concerned.

Jeremiah became aware of this early on, of course, but never completely mastered his acting skills in regards to Jerome. Or hadn’t bothered to, most probably, obsessive little minx that he was.

Jerome couldn’t express how glad he was that their consistent game of simultaneously pushing each other away and pulling closer seemed to be finally coming to an end with each visit.

“How are you feeling, baby bro?” he asked after the orderlies were done with securing Jeremiah’s cuffed wrists to the table hook. No sooner had the bastards stepped as far away as the crumpled space allowed to than he placed his hands atop his brother’s and gently squeezed. God, he missed this meager skin-on-skin contact more than he ever thought he would.

Jeremiah slumped in his chair, as though he were a puppet with its strings suddenly cut in one go. Jerome was in a panicked frenzy for all of couple seconds before his lizard brain registered that Miah’s shuddering breathing was his fake one. They’d honed this particular act to perfection ages ago, and he wasted no time to delve into it.

“What is it, Miah, sweetheart? What... how did it happen? Aren’t they supposed to have cameras in every nook and cranny?” he blabbered in one breath, convincingly displaying an image of terrified sibling. “I was worried sick!”

“It’s... It’s alright, really,” Jeremiah responded shakily. “You don’t need to be stressing out so much, I’m fine. He... He wasn’t able to... you know.”

“Oh, thank god!” Jerome weakly exclaimed, partly not even faking his relief. He suspected as much, of course, but hearing confirmation from the source was nice.

After all, _no one_ but him deserved to take his brother, and vice versa. God help those foolish enough to believe otherwise. He would undoubtedly enjoy watching them bleed.

“But still, how did it happen at all?” Jerome got back on track with the help of subtle tug on his wrist. “Surely the security cannot possibly be that abysmal. I was repeatedly ensured of its prowess!”

“He... jumped me in the showers,” Jeremiah said, a tad bit more composed, as if it explained everything. Unbeknownst to their audience, it did. “Apparently there aren’t any cameras installed, for our ‘privacy’ oughtn’t be violated. I didn’t notice that the two of us were somehow left behind until it became too late.”

His talented brother sniffed rather loudly, making it sound like he couldn’t hold himself together any longer, and Jerome immediately sprang to his feet, skirted the table and was hugging his twin before anyone else could ever register what happened.

Thankfully, especially pitiful sob prevented the onlookers from reacting right away, and it was all the two of them needed to complete the transgression of a carefully folded cloth in specially prepared space inside one of the seams of Miah’s jumpsuit.

Not that they stopped there, of course. A series of gut wrenching hiccups was designed to melt particularly tough hearts, and that was precisely what it did. The orderlies shuffled uncomfortably, but generously allowed Jerome to console his little brother, who looked so pitiful and on the verge of complete breakdown.

It was more physical contact than they got a chance to indulge in for a terribly long while, and they milked this brief respite for all its worth, knowing full well that they might not have another opportunity for just as long, if not more so.

Still, it was wonderful, if only bittersweet. Jerome clang to Jeremiah with all his might, his twin responding in kind, and he rarely ever felt this good in his life. His contentment was almost absolute.

If only they were alone, or better yet, together and free.

Such fierce dreams he had, cradling his brother’s identical form in his arms. But dreams were just that — dreams. It was only his own ingenuity and determination that could make them into reality.

A pointed cough no further than a mere step away violently jolted him out of his thoughts. Jeremiah, it seemed, forgot all about his act in this near-blissful state they’d both succumbed to, and it was a clear sign for the staff to cut their moment short.

Jerome clenched his teeth, refusing to ruing everything due to his short temper, and returned to his designated chair without protest, trying to convey how grateful he was for their _understanding_. Jeremiah did exactly the same on top of looking properly embarrassed by his outburst.

They refrained from discussing anything of value for the remaining of their hour, wary of tempting fate twice in a row. Not that their dialogue was any less fulfilling, of course.

As much in good spirits as it were to be expected, Jerome left the premises with little reluctance, already looking forward to their next meeting. And the accident, while horrendous, proved to be a huge boost for Jeremiah’s standing in the Arkham due to this apparent ‘mistake’, if the scheduled date was anything to go by.

Not that he doubted for a second that Jeremiah killed the wretch himself and then managed to pin the blame on someone else, of course, but all that mattered was the fact that seemingly whole facility bought into his ruse, which was only solidified by their masterful joined performance during the meeting.

Come to think of it, his sneaky bastard of a brother had probably planned the whole thing from the start, including his short chill in solitary, if only so he could get his grabby hands on as many privileges as he could manage.

All for the best, Jerome supposed, not even bitter about the secrecy anymore. It seemed like some things, no matter how open and welcoming Jeremiah became, were bound to never change.

**JVJVJV**

After that their encounters could be almost considered a walk in the park. They were steadily getting together, despite being mindful of constant vigilance and all that this bothersome obstacle ensured.

It was no matter, though. The two of them made best of the cards they were dealt, just as they always did.

There was, however, one thing that troubled Jerome more and more in recent handful of visits. All of a sudden Jeremiah stopped getting better. In fact, he seemed only worse with each passing meeting, and Jerome couldn’t for the life of him discern what had triggered such a drastic change, since the staff in there appeared to be positively smitten with the little minx.

His ever secretive brother chose to stubbornly remain tight-lipped, of course.

However, Jerome was as stubborn as Jeremiah, if not more so, considering years of fruitless attempts to close the gap between himself and his soul. He just simply waited for Miah to confide in him of his own volition most of times, and it usually paid off, but this time around was evidently not the same.

At any rate, Jerome was definitely fed up with this charade, and decided to put a stop to it today. Right about now, to be precise.

“Miah, why did you have to do it again?” he blurted as soon as his brother took a breath in preparation to delve into another one of his lengthy monologues. “You are obviously not as fine as you want me to believe, sweetheart. Something’s up.”

Jeremiah’s brow furrowed, subconsciously mimicking his own.

“What do you mean, brother?” he asked, a perfect picture of guilelessness.

“Wanna know where you’ve fucked up, don’t you? Fine!” Jerome spat, tired of these constant deflections. “You looked better, Miah, with each fucking day, up until you didn’t anymore. You became more and more worn-out instead, and refused to deign me with a single fucking word pertaining to your worrying state, even though you couldn’t have possibly missed that I basically started climbing up the wall. And just so you know, dear brother of mine, you haven’t been exactly subtle in your distress, which leads me to believe that you aren’t against me knowing whatever it is. So what is it, then? Or are you just riling me up for shits and giggles?”

“Is that what you think?” Jeremiah hissed, instantly defensive. “Just so you know, _brother_ , maybe I hadn’t been able to hide from you because you became my sanctuary. Haven’t thought of it, huh? Maybe I treasure these moments between us as something where I can put my guard down at last.”

Jerome recoiled, suddenly hit square in the chest. Indeed, he hadn’t thought about it like that. The idea was just so surreal that it would never have been able to take root in his mind on its own.

But now, though, when his twin basically spelled it out for him, it made sense. Improbable, fucked-up, but sense nonetheless.

“Miah,” he whispered almost pleadingly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t-“

“Don’t bother,” his twin brushed off his clumsy attempt at apology. “It’s not like I’ve ever been this sort of person before... well. Or admitted to somewhat being one, anyway. It’s perfectly understandable that you haven’t immediately jumped to the least likely conclusion.”

“No, it isn’t!” Jerome argued. “I’ve seen you transforming basically from the front row, noticed all the small details. I should have realized that it would also change way before you pointed it out.”

“Maybe,” Jeremiah shrugged indifferently. “Does it matter now, though? I’ve told you the truth.”

“Not all of it,” he frowned, ignoring the urge to bask in this heady feeling of brotherly love and acceptance and simply let the rest of the issue slide. Newfound openness or not, he certainly wouldn’t put it past his ingenious twin to use the revelation to his advantage.

“If you insist,” Miah sighed, confirming his suspicions. “Might as well go with the flow, I suppose. You see, it’s nothing, really. Remember the guy who killed the bastard that attempted to rape me? He’s, well... He’s somehow gotten it into his thick skull that I... owe him, I guess. For the whole solitary thing. It’s not that I’m ungrateful, mind you, but I didn’t _ask_ him to do this either,” ‘more like forced to’ went unsaid. “I’d say we’re even, but apparently not. And there isn’t much I can do about it at the moment, is there? In fact, I’m currently working on finding the solution, but he’s just so... insufferable and stubborn.”

“And how is it going? You ‘working’ on it, I mean?” Jerome asked when it became clear that his brother wasn’t about to contribute anything else.

“Not exactly smoothly, unfortunately,” Jeremiah grimaced. “Though it could’ve always been worse, I suppose. It’s just that I’m... limited in my resources, as you can imagine.”

‘And options’ went once again unsaid. Not that his twin of so many years needed to be especially thorough in his explanation, of course; Jerome knew perfectly well how his mind worked long before Jeremiah had first acknowledged these things to himself.

Now, though, he easily admitted to consider murder as a way out without any of his previous reservations, and it was wonderful. Well, barring the fact that such an event wouldn’t be overlooked in his current predicament. And if the staff in here watched all the inmates like hawks, they would undoubtedly conclude who benefitted from this particular death the most, and it just wasn’t an acceptable price to pay for the peace of Jeremiah’s mind.

Jerome understood all of this, and yet he still wished for his little brother to somehow work around it and come out of the situation both victorious and unscathed. A regular skirmish between the inmates gone wrong, perhaps?

Well, Jeremiah did say that he was currently working on it, did he not?

“I hope you find a way to dissuade the guy from this misconception of his soon enough,” Jerome offered, and the twins exchanged quick smiles full of understanding. “It troubles me to see you this stressed.”

“Don’t you worry, Jay, I have every intention to,” Jeremiah assured, flashing his wickedly gleaming teeth.

But he hadn’t managed to, apparently, as became evident in the following couple of weeks. He appeared increasingly more restless and jumpy since they last broached the subject.

Was that sorry bastard blackmailing his brother or what?

Fuck, of course he was! What else could have possibly held off Jeremiah’s wrath for this long?

Well, Jerome simply couldn’t have it, could he? And after an honest to god _flinch_ on his interlocutor’s part he made up his mind. The alternative plan was taking far too long anyway, and he rather doubted that he’d even see it through any time soon. What if something happened to Jeremiah in the meanwhile?

No matter. Jerome would do right by him, as he damn well should have already.

“Miah,” he called after his brother when the orderlies were leading him away that day.

“What is it?” his twin turned around, ignoring the guards’ protests. He’d obviously picked up on something in Jerome’s behavior earlier and seemed pensive.

“Remember what I promised you before all of this, little brother? I will be there for you. Always.”

Jeremiah’s exquisite eyes widened in alarm, but he didn’t get any chance to interrogate his sibling, as irritated orderlies had taken advantage of his sudden stillness and pushed him out of the room. The door closed with finality just as Miah’s mouth began to open.

It was only for the better, though, Jerome supposed. This way he wouldn’t be persuaded to drop his half-formed plan in favor of carrying on with the current one.

And Jeremiah would understand his reasoning, of course, once he was no longer busy with being pissed off at his ‘ill-advised’ decision.

Not that there was anything to do about it, of course. Jerome had already reinstated his wow and didn’t intend to chicken off even if he suddenly found himself in a position where he could get in contact with his brother before their allotted visiting hour.

Or more like his own apprehension, he supposed.

Suddenly giddy, he hurried out of the building that was sure to become his prison as well before long. He had a show for Gordon to create, after all; there was no time to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I contemplated adding one more chapter, but in the end decided against it. Jerome’s ‘show for Gordon’ will be featured in the next part of this series, just as I initially planned. It shouldn’t take particularly long, though, so don’t be dismayed that I left you at the cliffhanger (:


End file.
